Meeting Minds and Mounties
by Laurie is me
Summary: The Bolt brothers start killing people in Las Vegas. What’s a Mountie to do but go down and help a certain team of CSIs with the investigation? Crossover with DUE SOUTH
1. Chapter 1

Title: Meeting Minds and Mounties (1/?)

Author: Laurieisme (aka revolution25 on LJ)

Rating: PG (will go up in later chapters)

Summary: The Bolt brothers start killing people in Las Vegas. What's a Mountie to do but go down and help a certain team of CSIs with the investigation?

WARNINGS: slightly slashly (for now, will probably go up later to full on slash)

b Disclaimer/b I don't own, blah blah blah

A/N: Detective Vartann, of CSI, is played by the same actor who plays Agent Ford in Due South, which made me think of this story. I think if you know CSI and don't know Due South, you'll be fine reading this. By the same token I think if you know Due South but don't know CSI you should be fine.

* * *

Detective Vartann was the second officer on the crime scene. The first was a pasty faced uniform that looked like he just shed the officer that trained him. Vartann hated having to deal with these guys, they were always told to tell detectives everything and leave nothing out, he guessed it was their way of getting back at anyone who passed the detective's exam.

"The body is right here Detective, I haven't moved anything. It was called in on an anonymous 911 call, subject was found in that position, his eyes open and not breathing."

Vartann turned towards the officer and asked, "If you haven't touched the body, how do you know he's not breathing?"

"He can't be alive with his eyes open like that." The officer almost seemed proud, as if this was a test.

"Have you ever heard of someone sleeping with their eyes open?"

Vartann didn't have to look behind him to know who said that, Dr. Gil Grissom. He and Catherine had gotten out of the Tahoe and walked forward towards them.

"What do you know Vartann?" Catherine asked looking around the perimeter of the body.

"Just as much as you. Dead kid in the middle of the street."

"How much traffic do you think this intersection gets?" Grissom pointed to where the kid was lying.

"Old abandoned factory down that end, and that way is a dead end to a deserted house, so I'd say none. Unless the kids party up there," Vartann pointed out.

They all walked to the body, minus the uniform, being very careful where they stepped. The road was old and in disrepair, it looked as if a car hadn't driven down there in months if not years. Vartann got out his notebook ready to write down anything then looked down at the body.

He dropped his notebook.

"What's the matter with you?" Catherine said in a sharp tone.

"One seven F-O-C seven six." Vartann read what was branded on the boy's chest aloud unable to explain further.

"You've seen worse," she said trying to push his notebook back in his hand.

"What does it mean?" Grissom asked in an urgent, but quiet, almost soothing tone.

"They're in jail... It can't..."

Vartann got out his cell phone and asked to get the Canadian Consulate in Chicago on the phone, more specifically, Constable Benton Fraser.

"Who are you talking to?" Catherine asked.

/Canadian Consula-/

"Constable where are the Bolt brothers?" Vartann asked.

Grissom looked to Catherine confused and mouthed 'Bolt brothers?' to which she shook her head.

/Ah, Special Agent Ford. Randall and Lester Bolt escaped from prison a month ago. May I enquire why you-/

"Constable, you ever been to Las Vegas?" Vartann asked.

/No. Never./

"Well you're going to. I'm looking at a body right now, with seventeen F-O-C seventy-six burned into his chest."

* * *

"So their cousin used it to try to get a nuclear submarine." Vartann had been explaining the Bolt brothers to Grissom and Catherine for the past half hour, but he knew he had barely explained anything.

"So this is some terrorist group?" Catherine looked shocked, "why didn't you call homeland security, or the FBI?"

"There has been one common factor in bringing the Bolts down, that's Benton Fraser. He knows more about them than I could ever tell you, when he comes he'll explain." Vartann paused. He didn't know whether to tell them about Fraser's peculiar way, or just let them find out on their own. He finally shut his mouth deciding that it would be best if they found out on their own.

They decided to go ahead and start processing the crime scene while waiting for Fraser to come by. Vartann knew the meeting would be awkward, especially when Fraser would start calling him 'Ford' but he had no choice. Years of therapy had shown him the errors of his ways and he decided to start fresh as a detective, but he had never actually told anyone. Vartann decided then that picking up the Constable at the airport himself was the best way to handle things.

* * *

"Look Constable it's simple, just call me Vartann."

"Constable," Welsh said, "think of it as Kowalski, when we had to call him Vecchio even though he wasn't Vecchio, that wasn't lying, and this isn't either. You've changed your name legally right?" Vartann nodded then and Welsh continued, "See, everything's on the up and up."

"Why did you come, Lieutenant?" Vartann asked the older man in his passenger seat.

"Kowalski couldn't get a babysitter, I had a few vacation days, and I haven't been to Vegas in years."

They slowed down to the crime scene where Catherine was writing down the perimeter and Grissom was taking photographs.

Vartann took a deep breath, it was now or never.

* * *

Grissom took another picture of a partial shoe print which would lead to nothing. The events of the evening had been a bit odd, even for Vegas. The body looked dumped if not for the fact that he was spread eagle, and nothing to him screamed that there were terrorists responsible.

He heard the car slow down but did not look, he had no idea who this man was so there was no use to reacting to him before he actually met the man. He finally stood up when the three men had approached him and seemed to be waiting for him to acknowledge them.

"This is Gil Grissom, he's the supervisor for the CSIs here. Grissom, this is Lieutenant Welsh of the Chicago Police Department, and Constable Benton Fraser of the RCMP."

He shook the hand of the older man then turned to the man in the brown uniform with a curious look on his face.

"You wouldn't happen to be Dr. Gil Grissom the entomologist, would you?" He spoke clearly, almost as if he were taught how to speak proper English.

Grissom was almost at a loss for words, "Yes, I am."

"Ah, I've read some of your work. Your paper on the Caribbean Fruit fly genome was quite fascinating."

"Constable," Vartann said almost snappish, "do you think you can get on with it."

He nodded politely and said, "As you wish," then went to work on the crime scene. He walked with purpose and determination, which had been clearly reflected in the way he spoke.

Catherine had somewhere in that time approached him, and when she got close enough to him whispered, "He knows your work, I don't even know your work."

"Sorry about the Constable," Vartann said bringing Grissom's attention back to him, "he's a bit odd."

"Aren't we all?" Grissom asked genuinely.

"Oh my god!" Catherine was looking at the Constable who was licking something off the ground.

"He does that," Welsh said calmly, "you get used to it. So other than this branding on the body do you have any evidence to connect the Bolts to this?"

"Not as of yet," Vartann said as he was watching Fraser, looking quite embarrassed.

"So other than an anagram that a number of different people could decide to use for a number of different reasons, you flew us out from Chicago for... bupkis?"

"It's not, as you would say, 'bupkis,' Sir." Fraser spoke from across the crime scene, "This bandana was worn by Randall Bolt during his trial, I remember it quite well. I think Sir, he left it here for us to find."

"As if the burn on the kid's chest isn't enough?" Welsh asked.

"As you said Sir, any number of people could have come up with that code, but more to the point I believe the burn is a message to the victim, and the bandana is a message to us."

"What message?" Catherine asked.

"Justice will be served."


	2. Chapter 2

If Gil Grissom was the type of man to ever giggle, he would have done it the moment he saw Catherine check herself out in the mirror quickly before Constable Fraser had returned. She was a bit frantic in her movements, trying to get it done before the Mountie could see her doing it.

Benton Fraser was the type of good looking that made almost every woman stop and turn their heads. His eyes were an ice blue, and his hair was a dark brown with little bits of gray showing at the temples. His uniform seemed to be made for him to where it fit him so well, he was physically fit, but not a pile of muscles. Grissom could not blame Catherine for reacting the way she had to the tall handsome man, but he did wish she could keep it outside of work.

"So Vartann, what is he like outside of work?" Catherine tried to ask nonchalantly.

"The same that he's like inside of work, he's an overgrown boy scout. He doesn't lie, doesn't gamble, doesn't sleep around… In fact, one time, he had to steal in order to get in jail to help protect a prisoner, long story, but he couldn't do it. The cops had to plant it on him," Vartann said.

"He's not married?" She finally asked the question she'd been dying to know the answer to.

"Almost. Twice. Once, his superior officer, Meg something. Second time was his partner he'd been working with for… well forever. Ray Kowalski." Vartann had prepared himself for this conversation, he knew the best way to break the news was a little at a time.

"Ray's an odd name," she said trying to check her face in the mirror without either man noticing.

"Not for a man." Vartann tried to leave any emotion out of his voice.

Catherine gave him a funny look, not saying a word.

Vartann then said, "His partner Ray, was a man. He doesn't really talk about it, I guess because it's nobody's business, but he's not the type to care what you're packing, he loves who he loves."

Grissom found himself respecting the man a little more when Vartann said that, he wasn't all that surprised to hear it though, it seemed to fit him.

Before she could think of anything to say to that Constable Fraser and Lieutenant Welsh approached them.

"If you wouldn't mind I'd like to assist you as you process the evidence, but I don't wish to be an inconvenience," Fraser said looking at both Grissom and Catherine.

"None at all, you can assist me, Constable," Grissom said, and received a thankful look from Catherine.

"Let's go Vartann," Welsh said, "we've got to pound the pavement."

* * *

"There's a lot of trace on this bandana, but considering where it was left, that's not surprising," Grissom said aloud to Fraser as he tape-lifted some hairs.

"These men care very little about what evidence they leave behind, I wouldn't be surprised if it traced back to them," Fraser said.

"So why are these men terrorists?" Grissom asked.

"Who said they were terrorists?" Fraser looked a bit bewildered.

"Vartann. He said they had hostages in a justice building, tried to set off a nuclear explosion outside of Chicago…"

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb and looked as if he were choosing his next words carefully.

"While they have done all of those things, I think that motive should be more or less what describes a terrorist. These men's motives were always robbery, ransom. While their motives were also what they perceived to be patriotic, that was never their main goal."

"That's good to know, I was a bit worried when Vartann only chose to include you in the investigation." Grissom unwrapped the bandana and found nothing more inside of it. He looked at his watch then to Constable Fraser, "The coroner should have a preliminary examination done by now."

* * *

When they got to the morgue Doc Robbins looked up from the body he was working on and said, "What's a Mountie doing in my morgue?"

"He's helping with an investigation. Have you got anything on the body?" Grissom answered quickly.

"Burns were done pre-mortem, he lived long enough to scab over. He wasn't tied down, didn't fight, I sent his blood off to tox. He's about twenty, he has no identifying marks like tattoos, he's a John Doe. At least for the time being." Doc Robbins had been gesturing at things on the body he had only started cutting a Y-incision into.

"As for the cause of death?" Constable Fraser asked.

"Nothing as of yet."

"Will you check the airways and lungs?" Constable Fraser asked.

Doc Robbins laughed a little, "I usually do. Should I be looking for anything specific?"

"I think his death was accidental. I think they meant to frighten him, teach him some sort of lesson, but not kill him. He may have overdosed on a toxin used to make someone unconscious."

"These people usually don't kill?" Grissom asked.

"Oh they'll kill anyone. No my thoughts were that they wouldn't torture anyone until they die. As you said, Doctor Robbins, there were no defensive wounds which leads me to believe that when they burned him he was most likely unconscious, and they kept him that way until they were finished with him. Now what they wanted with him all that time I wouldn't presume to know, but if they kept giving him sedative after sedative he may have just no longer had the energy to breathe."

Grissom laughed a little, not believing what he just heard, "He hasn't even made the full incision yet, how could you know all that?"

Fraser simply said, "It was a deduction. From what I know of these criminals they would not wish for their victim to fight. They usually just kill people by shooting them. To have something elaborate as torture would not be in their MO. If they made a mistake and sedated him too much they are not the type to own up to it, they would have wanted to make it seem like they meant to do whatever the end result was."

"Right," Grissom said, but nowhere near meaning it, "well there's no real evidence to conclude that, at least not yet. I don't know how they do this where you work, but around here we like to follow the evidence."

"As do I," Fraser flipped his hat expertly onto his head, "I was just saying a theory aloud, I don't normally while the investigation is underway, but I thought that it may help considering the way we investigate crimes is quite different. Maybe it's a cultural-"

"Okay," Grissom said just wanting to stop him from a long-winded rant about how different things are in Las Vegas and Canada. "Thanks Doc," Grissom said as he walked out of the morgue. He heard Fraser say something more to Doc Robbins but could not hear what it was.

" Where do we go from here?" Fraser asked as he straightened his Sam Browne.

"We still have to wait for the results of trace to come back so…" Grissom was hoping he would take the hint and leave him in peace for a few hours.

Fraser smiled politely and said, "Ah, I think now would be a good time to 'hit the pavement' as they say. I think we should discuss with Leftenant Welsh and Detective Vartann what they've found so far and help them with continuing their search."

Grissom smiled and shook his head, "That's not my job."

Grissom headed down to his office but felt within a few steps he felt he was being followed closely by Constable Fraser. He turned and looked to Fraser who apparently still had more to say.

"I understand Doctor Grissom that you are a Crime Scene Investigator but I believe that it may be more prudent if we were to investigate together. And as you know another pair of eyes could not hurt the case."

Grissom knew he was defeated. He smiled and motioned to his office, "Just let me get my coat."

By the time Grissom had found his way back to the entrance of the building Fraser was surrounded by women.

"Actually it's tested for seventy below," he said shifting his weight uneasily from foot to foot.

"Who would bring their baby out in that kind of cold?" One of the women said sounding irate.

"Well when you're Inuit and a bear has made his way into your village, or you have to go get food at the nearest outpost, it's not as, well bad, as it may sound to you." Constable Fraser spotted him, there was a slight change in his face, it looked a little like relief, but it left quickly and Fraser made his apologies and left the circle of women that surrounded him.

"Does that happen to you often Constable?" Grissom asked as he opened the door for the other man.

"Too often. Where are we headed?"

"Just off the strip. Vartann said they'll be heading there soon to check out a lead some homeless man gave them."

* * *

For the past ten minutes they had been stuck in traffic and Grissom was listening somewhat to what Constable Fraser had to say about the piece that was playing on the radio.

"It was really quite funny because apparently the composer felt that while his masterpiece played the only way to celebrate was if his young, and quite underage I might add, servant were to perform fellatio on him backstage."

"He got caught," Grissom added.

Fraser turned to him with a curious look on his face, "You've heard this story before?"

"No, I deduced it. Besides, there probably would be no story to tell unless they were found."

"Well, they were found. He was seen backstage before the performance and they decided to open the curtains at the last crescendo of the performance and reviled the man who's masterpiece they had just listened to."

Grissom took his eyes off the road and turned to Fraser to say, "This doesn't end happily."

"No, it does not. He was hanged for what he made his young male servant do, but most only know that he was hanged, not what for."

"Where did you hear this story from?" Grissom asked.

"I read it in a book. My grandparents were librarians."

Grissom laughed a little, "They had books about that just on hand?"

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow again and said rather stiffly, "Not on hand, they had books on a more deviant subject matter. I must admit when I became a teenager I would borrow the books without telling. I don't think my grandparents would have liked to know what I borrowed, although I assume they knew when certain books would go missing."

Grissom was trying to hide his grin but it was difficult, "Are you saying that you stole, or borrowed without their knowledge, books from your grandparents so you could learn about sex? No one sat you down…"

"No, we weren't… I believe that's them." Fraser sounded relieved to get away from the topic.

Grissom slowed down the car and parked along side the two men who were standing on the sidewalk.

Lieutenant Welsh was the first to speak, "Guy's not here. You would not believe the coincidence, 'cause this guy left last night after he heard something on his police scanner around nine pm."

"So what have we got?" Vartann sounded a little defeated, "we can't find them, no matter how much evidence we get against them we can't press charges if we can't find them."

"We're back to bupkis," Welsh said.

"No," Grissom said, "we got a scared guy running, and that means he's leaving a trail of evidence that will follow right back to him."

Fraser said, "and hopefully to our killers."


	3. Chapter 3

"His name is Cole Williams, he's a member of the White Supremacy Party, among other lovely clubs," Lieutenant Welsh said looking down at the file, "never a member of the PTA. Has two kids he's not allowed to see, and with his rap sheet for good reason. Joined in with the Bolts in prison, he was Randall's cell mate."

"What was he in prison for?" Grissom asked as he filled up his coffee cup. They were all in the break room, sitting down at the table, trying to figure out how to proceed with the case. It had been a long day, and although Grissom rarely liked to go home in the middle of a case, this was one exception. This was what cops were for, he didn't need to be here trying to find this guy, the officers should have just gone off and tried to find him and when they found something give him a call so he could dust it.

"Trying to hang a fourteen year old kid," Welsh's voice lost the tone of playfulness, "Kid was a witness to the members of his group robbing a home, they attacked him the day before he was about to testify."

"I don't think Vegas have any of these white supremacy assholes." Vartann looked around the table, "I mean, we have crazies, but no one that crazy."

"It would be pertinent if we were to make sure, I think Lieutenant Welsh and myself can take care of it." Fraser said.

"Two people who know nothing about this city are going to go around and try to find a white supremacists needle in a haystack of crazy?" Grissom asked.

"He's right," Vartann said, "you'll need help."

* * *

"When was the last time you drove a car?" Grissom had a death grip on the middle seat and the door in the passenger seat of his own car.

"About thirty minutes before I left Chicago." Fraser swerved around to the right lane and was able to signal a good second before he fishtailed around the corner.

"Have you heard the words reckless endangerment?"

"Of course I have they are English, and English being my predominate language-"

"And you don't see how they apply to this situation?" Grissom said nearly sliding out of his seat.

"Clearly," Fraser said matter-of-factly.

"You're driving like an insane person who's trying to get away from the elves that are screaming in his head."

"I don't follow you."

"Slow. The. Fuck. Down."

Immediately after he said the words Fraser seemed to slow down to a speed his grandmother would enjoy, and looked rather relieved.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Grissom screamed as he squirmed around in his seat and adjusted himself to a normal sitting position.

"I was told it was a cultural thing," Fraser said.

"Who told you?" Grissom asked.

"Ray, a… friend of mine."

Grissom had heard that name before, which was the man Fraser almost married. He tried to look as if he didn't know whom Fraser was talking about for both of their sakes.

"Well has Ray ever lied to you, especially when it comes to you behind the wheel of a two ton weapon?"

"Actually now that you mention it, four and a half times; But in each case there were extenuating circumstances. The first time-"

"What I mean," Grissom interrupted, "Is that your friend was playing a joke on you, or on me."

"That's silly, Ray doesn't even know you."

"You can't really be that naïve." Grissom said staring straight at Fraser.

"No, but I was in full control of the vehicle at all times and obeyed most of the traffic laws. Thankfully not many people are out at this time of night. If you want to arrest me I can pull over to the side of the road."

"Tell me why, and we'll call it even."

"Ray, well he and I haven't been on the best terms as of late. He has remarked something along the lines of the duet getting 'stale' as it were. He said it was because he could always predict my reactions to any given situation. After that we spent an hour of him saying everything I was thinking as I was saying them."

"If you wanted to prove something to your friend why didn't you just wait until you got back to your own city with him in the passenger seat?"

"I wasn't trying to prove it to him." Fraser said a little under his breath and just about as serious as Grissom had seen him.

"Well next time you're going to prove something to yourself warn people in the immediate area. At least now I know, after that if I didn't have a heart attack I probably never will. So, other than making sure people won't die of heart attacks, what is it exactly you do? I mean, for fun."

"I just would like to clarify I meant you no harm, and I'm glad you wont die from a heart attack. It's always important to look at the brighter side of things."

Grissom smiled and shook his head, "I do that."

"What exactly are you talking about," Fraser asked taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look over at Grissom.

"Avoiding the question by going back to the previous conversation; Revealing a little bit of something so that you won't have to talk about something too personal."

Fraser adjusted in the driver's seat and cracked his neck, "Ah," was the only thing he said.

"Ah, that's it?" Grissom asked trying not to smile.

"Ah," Fraser repeated with the same inflection.

Grissom laughed softly to himself then said, "Ah."

Fraser, maybe a little despite himself, smiled a little.

* * *

"This! Man!" Vartann said shaking the photo in front of the bald headed bar tender.

The bartender put down the glass he was wiping and looked down at the picture.

"Never seen 'em. 'Course my memory ain't what it was."

Welsh looked away, the universal signal from one cop to the other that they would be paying and the superior would be watching anything else but a detective greasing some guy's palm. Vartann took a twenty out of his wallet and shoved it in the guy's hand.

"Comes here on Saturdays, never misses a day. This last Saturday he was nowhere to be seen. Don't know where he's been." The man went back to wiping the dirty glass clean, when Vartann motioned for him to come back.

"Does he talk to anyone? Got any friends, who hang out here?" He waived at the crowd.

"Any white woman that will talk to him, I say white because we had to throw him out a couple times for wearing a swastika jacket. I call it a swastika jacket because there was a huge fucking one on the back, we can't have that in here."

"Any women here tonight that he conversed with?" Welsh asked.

"YO! Janet! Get your fat ass over here!" and without another word the man turned his back to the cops and went back to bartending.

Vartann and Welsh looked around trying to find the woman they were talking about. She approached from their left; she was a middle-aged woman, wearing a tube top and fishnets. She plopped down her tray of empty drinks on the bar and screamed some drink orders, then turned to Vartann and Welsh giving them a bored look.

"Whadda want?" she croaked.

"Do you know this man?" Vartann asked holding up a picture.

"Grabs my ass every time he comes in, fucking pervert; Didja finally arrest the bastard?"

Welsh shook his head, "he's missing. Have you seen him recently? Has he told you anything about who he's working with, his friends?"

The woman rolled her eyes, "I told you, he grabs my ass, we don't go over each other's house and braid our hair. I know nothing about him but he leaves a lousy tip, and he's a Nazi freak."

She left with new drinks on her tray. Welsh and Vartann shrugged to each other and left the bar.

"I hope Fraser and Grissom are doing better than us," Welsh said opening up his cell phone.

* * *

"So what's Grissom's case got to do with a Mountie?" Greg asked as he and Catherine walked through the shattered glass outside the robbed bank.

"The Mountie arrested the guys they think are involved."

Greg stopped and lent Catherine a hand over said shattered glass, as he thought for a moment, "do you think he has a horse?"

"I'd be surprised if he didn't have a lasso."

"Bank robbers were pretty well organized," Brass said.

"How much did they get?" Greg asked.

"Teller estimates around twelve million. Guys came in dressed in black and went right to the safe."

"It was open?" Catherine asked.

"Nope, but somehow they knew the combination."

"Inside job," Catherine sounded disappointed.

"I've got them all here," He pointed to the far end of the room, "but surprise surprise, none of them have any idea of what I'm talking about. Here's where it gets interesting, they left a guy."

"Left a guy?" Catherine asked.

"Guy came in with them, helped them rob the place, then they all turn and shoot him. He's in the vault; David's having some face time with him right now." Brass nodded over to where the vault was then went back over to get more witness statements.

When they got to the vault David was crouched over the body shoving a thermometer in his liver.

"Hey Catherine, Greg," the thermometer beeped and he looked down, "he was running a bit of a fever before he died, but that's not what killed him. If I were to venture a guess I'd say it's the gaping bullet wounds."

Catherine smiled weakly, "Thanks Dave, could we take a quick look before you haul him off."

David smiled, "take all the time you need, he's not going to mind."

Greg took a picture of the body then looked closer, "he was shot in the front. Who gets the attention of the guy with the gun before they shoot him?"

"The correct answer is our bank robbers, but you're right it makes no sense. What did he do to piss them off so much that they'd kill him in the middle of their robbery?"

"He doesn't know all the lyrics to _Bad Moon Rising_?" Greg said taking another picture.

Catherine looked around at their crime scene. It looked pristine, except for all the money they knew was missing, but entirely unlike any other bank robbery she'd ever seen. She looked down to the body and saw nothing really out of the ordinary. He was shot about six times in the chest and fell onto his back. She pushed at his pockets to see if there was anything in them. Reaching in she pulled out some things.

Greg picked up the condom she had taken out of his pocket and flicked it in-between his fingers, "guess he wasn't as prepared as he thought he was."

"Are you done with the condom jokes for today?" She asked.

"For now, But I guarantee nothing for the rest of the day. Does he have a wallet on him?"

"Let me check," Catherine moved the body a little to get some of his weight off his back pocket and felt around.

"Got it," she said as she pulled it out triumphantly, "You got to love this town. Who goes to rob a bank with proper ID on them?"

"So what's our genius' name?" Greg asked taking a picture of where the cash used to preside in the vault.

"Cole Williams. Let me go tell Brass, when he gets his name in the system maybe something will pop up, like known accomplices."

"Considering how well he did here, I'd be surprised if anything turns up on him."


	4. Chapter 4

"Your witness is our dead body?" Catherine asked.

"That was a very succinct way of putting it, yes." Fraser said as he entered the vault.

"What exactly did he witness?" Greg asked.

"He was seen arguing with one of the Bolt brothers a few days ago, right before they killed a man." Welsh said putting his hands in his members only jacket pockets.

"So," Vartann said moving around the body, "Cole Williams could have heard what they were doing to this kid, threatens them, but what, he goes with them to a robbery?"

"It doesn't make sense," Fraser kneeled down to the body in front of him.

"That's what I'm saying," Vartann said emphatically.

"No, I mean the body. He's holding his gun and he's shot in the front. Now the Bolts are no strangers to shooting people. But with a gun in his hand, they'd shoot him in the back so he'd get no chance to fire at them."

"You think they didn't kill him?" Grissom asked.

"I'm saying if they did it would be an odd way to go about it." Fraser said standing up.

Grissom motioned with his head, "Let's process the scene."

With that Greg and Catherine went back to what they were doing before the others came, and Grissom went outside of the vault and into the bank.

After a couple of hours Fraser had ran out of things to do and went to Grissom's car so he would not contaminate the scene. By the time Grissom and the others were finished he had gone through half of Milton's Paradise Lost in his head. He got out of the car and went to where they were standing.

"All of it is on video, these guys didn't even bother wearing masks," Greg said shaking a VHS tape.

"The vault was closed," Grissom said, "Fingerprints come back to our vic, but how he knew the combination in the first place is still a mystery."

"They barely left anything, I could only get footprints." Catherine said.

"Let's bring this back to the lab and call it a night." Grissom said, and the others looked relieved.

* * *

Grissom got back into his Tahoe after dropping off the evidence at the lab.

"What hotel are you at?" Grissom said as he started the engine.

"I'm not at a hotel, I don't need anything so extravagant. I was thinking of a nicer alley we passed a short while ago-"

"I can't really do jokes right now," Grissom said rubbing his eyes, "which hotel?"

"I assure you I'm quite serious." Fraser said and everything in his tone said he meant it.

"You can't be," Grissom said not wanting to actually think this man could be serious about sleeping in an alley in Vegas. One of the many alleys he regularly saw bodies in.

"I never exaggerate."

"Fine," Grissom said throwing up his hands in defeat. He backed out of the space and did not stop, even though Fraser asked him multiple times to, until he got home.

He practically pushed the arguing Mountie in his town home and stopped in front of his couch.

"You can sleep there."

That was the last thing he remembered saying or doing that night. When he woke up he was in his bed, but that seems to be as far as he had gotten because he still had his shoes on. He quickly got up and took a shower and changed.

When he entered the living room Fraser was looking through a book, apparently waiting for Grissom to wake up.

"We're going to get breakfast with the others, I'll call Greg and see where." Grissom said.

* * *

"What about the tape?" Catherine asked before she put the piece of egg in her mouth.

"Williams was in on it, he didn't seem scared at all, that was until they got all the money out of the vault. He stood there, asked them something, then just let them shoot him."

"That explains why he was shot in the front, but why?" Welsh asked.

"Maybe he realized he was a dead man. Maybe he asked them to do it." Greg said.

"But we still don't know how in the world he got the combination to the safe." Catherine said.

"Did the bank say who has the combination to the safe?" Welsh asked.

"Three people, one of which was at the robbery, but he couldn't have told them because he was on the other side of the room." Vartann said.

"The other two?" Fraser asked.

"One, was on sick leave, I got hold of him, he's been in the South of France for the past week." Vartann said checking his notes.

"The last one?" Grissom asked.

"Missing." Vartann said.

"The Bolts most likely killed him once they got the information they needed." Fraser said.

"So we're looking for a body, most likely. Did they have a wheelman?" Grissom asked.

"Not that we can tell from the video, but we don't even have a vehicle to look for. No tire tracks were left at the scene, and no one in the bank saw it." Greg said.

"What about the outside cameras?" Grissom asked.

"Been broken for the past month," Greg said.

"They would have dumped the car by now," Fraser began, "what we need to do if we want to catch them is to stop them from escaping the city. All of the main highways, the flights, the buses, and the trains need to be checked."

"If they haven't left already," Welsh said.

Fraser shook his head, "They're still here. They're waiting, for some recognition."

* * *

"Do you have anything on where they may have been?" Fraser asked as he walked into Grissom's office.

"And where would I find such a magical piece of evidence that might lead me to them?"

"You did note the trace on the bandana…" Fraser genuinely seemed at a loss.

"Right, but that only tied us to the Bolts, I was just re-enforcing that with the bandana. I thought you understood that what we were doing was just building a case against the Bolts…"

"My mistake. I should have brought Deifenbaker, he may have been able to find something…" Fraser said almost to himself.

"Deifenbaker?" Grissom asked.

"My wolf. He's deaf, but he has a remarkable sense of smell, even for a wolf. Of course they do say that once you loose one of your senses the others-"

"If you want I can call for the sent dogs to go over it but considering the city it seems like it would be a hopeless-"

"That's quite all right. It was my mistake to assume anything. Investigator Sanders is in the Audio Visual Laboratory, and wishes for you to join him."

Grissom looked at him for a moment then said, "Greg wants to see me in the A/V Lab?"

"That's what I said," Fraser said shortly.

"I know. I was translating it from Mountie to human." Grissom smiled.

"I'm afraid not all members of the RCMP have the same speech patterns as I."

"Than from Fraser to layman." Grissom said as they walked to the A/V lab.

"Doctor Grissom, if either one of us is a 'layman' it must be me. I read your essay on the ants of the world, and I have to admit that I did not understand all of what you said. Although of what I could understand, the topic was completely fascinating."

"Is there anything I've written that you haven't read?" Grissom asked smiling.

"I don't believe so."

Grissom approached Greg, and waited for whatever speech was about to come forth.

"We have the video, the bank's video, from the past year, so I decided to go backwards and see if there was anyone who opened the vault besides the three that Vartann told us had access. Of course I could be working on something else, and this does cut into my personal life-"

"You're sacrifice is noted, did you find anything?" Grissom asked.

"I've got a picture of the third guy, we can put an APB out on him now." Greg started taping time codes into the computer. The large front screen showed the face of the third man.

"We don't need that APB." Grissom said.

"You've seen him?" Greg asked excitedly.

"He's the first dead man we found. The one with the numbers burned into his chest." Grissom said.

"So the banker knew the numbers, that's why they burned him?" Greg asked.

"It can't be just that, they burnt specific numbers into him, we need to go see Doc Robbins."

Grissom and Fraser rushed over to the Morgue and tripped a little through the doors.

"Do you have anything on our dead body from the road?" Grissom asked.

"I do in fact," Doc Robbins said putting down his turkey sandwich, "The man was drugged, but not enough to kill him. What killed him, was suffocation. He didn't have a chance, he was unconscious when they did it to him. The burns had pieces of meat in them, cow. My best guess-"

"They were used to brand cattle, then were put in the wrong hands, and used for this nefarious purpose." Fraser finished for him.

"They were keeping him alive, why would they suffocate him?" Grissom asked.

Fraser shook his head, "It's not their M.O. It does not make any sense to drug anyone they wish to get information from, there must be something else going on."

"You mean he was connected to them." Grissom looked puzzled, "But how is an African American bank manager connected to a white supremacist group?"


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Microfiche, if you don't know, is a piece of film that has pictures on it, the machine you use has a monitor and a dial. It can hold all forms of information on it, a lot of the time it's something like Newspapers, which don't store well. You turn the dial and it goes forward with the pictures. You've probably seen them in movies and/or TV shows before. It's in this chapter, just in case you thought I'd gone crazy explaining some weird thing. I remember having to use it for research, which doesn't make me old, just nerdy and cool.

* * *

Grissom knocked on the glass door of the city library. In all of his years in Vegas he never remembered coming here, except for tonight (or should he say early morning), he never really had to. The librarian directed him to the microfiche section.

Over in the cubical closest to the wall a little bright light was flickering. Grissom walked towards it to see a somewhat disheveled Fraser staring at the monitor that flashed newspaper clippings. His brown jacket was on the chair beside him, his sleeves were rolled up and his tie was loosened.

"You know," Grissom placed a cup of coffee in front of Fraser, "You'd be able to find that on the Internet."

"Most of the older papers, or papers that have since been stopped are not on the Internet, and I already searched there."

"Did you find anything?"

"I've been checking the Bolt's history, and I've found nothing. I'm now going through Cole Williams history, he's appeared twice. Once, announcing his birth, and another time it just showed a picture of him with other known white supremacists. Did you find out the name of our original victim?"

"Clay Anderson," Grissom said, "apparently he and Williams come from the same town. Williams was off the map for a while, but he set up in Vegas three months ago. Apparently that's right around the time Anderson became somewhat unlike himself, or at least that's what his co-workers say. What year are you up to?"

"nineteen eighty-seven." Fraser sounded somewhat saddened by the realization.

"Mind if I take the nineties?"

Fraser's response was to give him the microfiche, and turn back to his own monitor.

An hour had passed when Fraser called Grissom over to take a look at an article buried next to the obituaries.

Grissom read over Fraser's shoulder, "This group of men came to the Anderson house late Friday night. While their intentions still remain unclear they beat Steven Anderson, father of one, and tried to kill Clay Anderson. They tried to hang him… He's the one, he's the fourteen year old Williams tried to kill."

"Isn't it odd, for such a violent offence, to be buried in a local newspaper?" Fraser asked.

"Here's the reason," Grissom pointed to an offender in the picture, "That's the Mayor's son. I only know that because in nineteen ninety-two he himself becomes mayor."

"Are you suggesting that the Mayor would use his influence to-"

"I don't need to, the proof is right here."

Fraser looked at Grissom for a long moment, then turned back to the monitor, "What we have now is a man frightened of someone who tried to kill him when he was a boy. He gives him the combination to the bank vault, dies himself. The Bolt brothers effectively use both parties and kill the second party after they've gotten all they can from him. What questions still need to be answered are, who was the one that killed Clay Anderson."

"Why Cole Williams let them kill him, and where are the Bolt brothers now?" Grissom finished for him.

* * *

"Um, yeah, White Power. Right." Vartann put his hand dumbly in the air then took it down quickly.

"Anyway, we're looking for some brother of ours," Welsh said after staring for a while at Vartann, "Name's Bolt, Randal and Lester. They're in a bit of trouble, we want to warn them. Someone may be a turncoat, if you know what I mean."

The white supremacist gave Welsh a blank stare, and only that, nothing more.

"We think one of the Bolt brothers is datin' a black woman." Vartann said.

Welsh gave him a look, to which Vartann just shrugged.

The man started scratching his head, moving his comb-over, "Last I heard they were in that old abandoned hanger, you know the one, way outta town. Where all the old blimps used to be stored. Do you really think they could be in trouble?"

"Yeah, we'll get an intervention going. You know to denounce that… stuff. We'll call you. Us white brothers got to stick together." Vartann said as he and Welsh tried to leave rather quickly.

The man called after them, "You don't have my cell number!"

They were in the car and out of there so quickly; the man may have been suspicious if he had been brighter.

"If ever there were evidence that we should increase and multiply with all the different races that man was it. I don't think his family tree would have branched out once." Vartann said.

"So, you want to go back and share this information, or do you want to check it out ourselves?" Welsh said as he finished writing down everything the man had said in his small notepad.

"I tried dealing with the Bolts once, I really don't want to re-live that." Vartann shook his head.

"That's only because a woman broke your nose. Not that you didn't deserve it, from what Inspector Thatcher said-"

"Can't anyone let that go? I was an asshole-"

"As long as you're willing to admit it-"

"A lot of money in therapy and a career change should tell you I'm a changed man. I've realized why I treated women like that-"

"If you blame your mother, so help me Vartann-"

"I was taught by my father that women were just objects."

"That's why I don't ever buy into this Psychiatry gobbledy-gook, you blame your father, but look at me. My father was a drunk-"

"Just because you were strong enough-"

"You talk anymore about how emotionally strong either one of us is I'm leaving you at the side of the road… Where the heck am I?" Welsh looked around at the street signs.

"Why did you insist on driving if you don't know where you're going?" Vartann asked as he tried to point out which lane to get into.

"I didn't insist, we were just too busy trying to get away from that crazy guy-"

"Next time just get into the passenger seat… So Meg Thatcher-"

"Another word about Meg Thatcher and not only will I leave you on the side of the road, I'll run you over."

Vartann held up his hands, "Fair enough."

* * *

"There's food in the fridge," Grissom said as he unlocked the door.

Fraser followed him inside, went to the kitchen table and carefully put his jacket on the back of one.

"Thank you kindly, but I'm really not hungry. I'm rather tired," Fraser fished in his hat for something, then walked towards Grissom.

"I would like to call Chicago, if you wouldn't mind, this should be more than enough."

Grissom took the money then said, "It's Canadian."

"As am I." Fraser said seriously.

"But you live in Chicago."

"Canadian officers get paid in Canadian money."

Grissom smiled a bit then said, "But it's not about that is it? You carry Canadian money because you want to feel more like a Canadian. I've been to Chicago, for a Cubs game or two, they have places all around where you can exchange your money for American. Why else would you keep it like this? Unless you're lazy, and you do not strike me as a lazy man."

Fraser stood completely still for a few moments, then moved his weight from one foot to the other, "Right, well-"

"I take it the call is private, you can use the phone in the bedroom. I'm going to eat something." Grissom said quickly knowing what he had just done was precisely the wrong thing to do at a time like that and with a man like that.

He was shocked at himself. Usually he would keep something like that to himself, he never told anyone something like that, maybe it was the person he was deducing. Fraser was a fascinating person to even try to get to know. So many little things that could be waived off as irregular behavior from an irregular person, but every little thing seemed to have so much meaning.

"It is not a private conversation. I can call from out here, I would not wish to invade your privacy."

"Right." Grissom had really no other words. Everything had become amazingly awkward in a very short amount of time. He ate silently, facing away from Fraser, wanting to give him some sense of privacy. Grissom was trying not to listen as best he could, but a few things did slip into his mind. Fraser had apparently called his sister Maggie. He wanted her to know he was fine and to not worry. He then asked after her children. He asked about work.

Fraser got off the phone, unbuttoned his shirt and took off his suspenders.

"Doctor Grissom?"

It took Grissom a moment to realize that he was finished eating and was clearly staring at Fraser.

"Lost in thought, sorry, did you need anything?" He waived his hand around his head as if that explained everything.

"Why insects?"

"Excuse me?" Grissom asked perplexed.

"Why did you study insects? You're doctorate is for biology, you could have picked anything to specialize in, you picked Entomology, why?"

"Insects are perfect," Grissom said in the same tone he had used to explain why he loved entomology a hundred times over.

Fraser nodded but got up and stood next to him, "So you like insects because they do as their nature intends them to do, nothing more, nothing less? Have I got that right?"

"Among other things, yes. They hold no surprises. Their life cycles are exact, and they would never do something that is not in their nature to do."

"But aren't the imperfections what makes nature beautiful?" Fraser asked seeming genuinely interested.

"In nature it is the animal with the most symmetry that attracts a mate, so as nature would have it, no."

"Personally though?"

Grissom took off his glasses, "Personally do I think that I'd want to mate with the one with the most symmetry? Physical attraction is a factor of course, but I'm not going to measure someone's face to see how symmetrical they are."

"And imperfections? What do you think of them?"

"In a mate?" Grissom laughed, "They can be charming. People were never meant to be insects, perfect people don't exist."

"You don't think I'm at all perfect?"

Grissom looked quizzically at Fraser, this was a very odd question. Fraser looked earnest, as if he really thought there was a chance that Grissom could call him perfect in any way.

"No, quite the opposite. You Benton Fraser, are full of imperfections." Grissom smiled and thought that may have been the end of the conversation.

The phone rang. Grissom was about to pass by Fraser to get it, when without a moment's notice Fraser kissed him.

It was quick, too quick for Grissom to notice if he were reciprocating, or any sensation there may have been. By the time Grissom got it in his head that he was being kissed Fraser was shutting the door to the bathroom and turning on the shower.

Grissom, most likely due to the state of shock, said to no one in particular, "well that was weird."


End file.
